


Old Man on Main Street (butler in a dark alley)

by ThatDayEveryday



Series: Billy, Bats, And League Crap [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Shazam! (2019), Shazam! | Captain Marvel (Comics)
Genre: BAMF Alfred Pennyworth, Billy Batson Needs a Hug, Billy is a Sweetheart, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce wayne is a good man btw, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21960820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDayEveryday/pseuds/ThatDayEveryday
Summary: “C'mon Batson,” Billy whispered hoarsely, forcing his battered feet to move, “pull yourself together, get yourself home, and then you can dream all you want.”Or.. Alfred Pennyworth is a patient man.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Billy Batson & Alfred Pennyworth
Series: Billy, Bats, And League Crap [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580944
Comments: 82
Kudos: 399





	1. Dark Alley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noochieD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noochieD/gifts).



> This is dedicated to my sweet Bib-Dee! Merry Christmas Sweetheart!

Billy was tired. If he were being honest with himself (which he wasn't) he was utterly exhausted, but crime in Fawcett was not to be tolerated on Billy's watch!

And he was always watching.

Fawcett.. ..it meant everything to him. It is his home. His beautiful city filled with his precious people. They looked up to Captain Marvel and he loved to be their superhero. He'd do anything for them. 

Billy liked to imagine this was something he had in common with superman. The big S and his Metropolis, the big cheese and his Fawcett! 

Of course there were dozens of other supers with cities of their own, but Billy knew there was a distinct difference between his happy go lucky town and places like dark and dreary Gotham. Superman’s Metropolis seemed to shine much like the kryptonian himself, and Fawcett city beamed just as brightly as it's mighty mortal always did.

Billy had often dreamed of fighting alongside Superman, it would've been the coolest thing ever! He was so sure they'd make the best team: pure strength combined with the powers of magic.. ..ha! ..the best…

..oh boy, but Billy was so tired..

“C'mon Batson,” Billy whispered hoarsely, forcing his battered feet to move, “pull yourself together, get yourself home, and then you can dream all you want.”

Shrunk down to his original, kid-sized form, Billy limped his way towards his current hideout as fast as his injured leg could carry the rest of his bruised body. The day had been particularly rough on the aspiring hero and it showed in the boy's haggard appearance. His hair was unkempt, sticking up like the green end of a carrot, and his drooping eyelids weighed heavily upon his bloodshot eyes. His favorite (only) red sweater was torn at the sides, directly under his armpits, and was soaked through the front and back with a mystery dumpster sauce. Poor Billy's right leg had bashed against the corner of said dumpster during his little fall from the sky, and while his old jeans had kept his skin from splitting open on the sharp metal, his knee was incredibly swollen and throbbed in time with his rapid pulse.

Everything ached and hurt, but Billy was never one to complain. Especially since his misfortune had paid off and he'd finally managed to loose the ominous shadow that had been tracking him all dang day! 

Billy shivered at the memory of a cold, dark entity flickering in and out of his peripheral vision as he flew his patrol route through Fawcett. At first he thought it was simply a trick of the light playing off the corners of buildings as he sped past, but then he'd had a dreadful thought…

….since when did shadows jump across rooftops and scale buildings in broad daylight?...

..only SINCE NEVER!!

After that Billy had paid closer attention to his tail and had found that this particular shadow had very distinguishable arms, legs, hands, and feet. Solomon had then come to the forefront of the Captain’s mind, informing him politely that shadows have never and will never possess limbs. Rightfully freaking out at that, Billy decided to ditch the creepy thing by flying in patterns much like he'd witnessed intoxicated adults drive vehicles: like a raging lunatic!

He'd flown for hours trying to get rid of that thing! He'd zipped to and from the tippy tops of skyscrapers at maximun speed (just as fast, if not faster, than Superman!) until he'd lost count of how many streets he'd hopped and there was no looming darkness in sight. Billy thought that had been the end of it, but alas, not fifteen minutes later the shadow was back and creeping at the outskirts of his vision!

It also didn't help matters that the Captain was still technically on patrol, and would stop on a dime to assist or rescue any citizen who needed his help. Captain Marvel could not leave his people hanging no matter what (and regardless of any dangers to his own self). At the very least, the shadow seemed to respect this, ceasing it's chase just long enough for Billy to perform his acts of goodness, and only after the citizen was sufficiently helped did it resume it's hunt of the caped hero.

This particular show of intelligence from the shadow might've been the tipping point for Billy if the shadow hadn’t then proceeded to assist him with the capturing and restraining of three mildly competent bank robbers. For it was at that moment that Billy felt his wits snap, and before the police could arrived to arrest the criminals he sped off like a shot, reaching speeds he hadn't before! 

In his desperate haste, Billy had nearly run smack into the broadside of a brick building. At the last possible second Billy shouted the name of the wizard, which caused a bolt of lighting to be shot down from the sky and promptly fill Billy with an otherwise unhealthy amount of electricity. This caused his form to change as well as his trajectory, and Billy plummeted feet first into an open dumpster.

…and.. well.. here he was. Cold, tired, and most definitely not complaining.

Come to think of it.. he could probably just.. rest a while and then..

..he is tired..

.

.

Alfred Pennyworth is a patient man. 

One might go so far as to say, that he is the embodiment of patience itself. Everyone who's ever interacted with the butler more than two seconds knew without a doubt that Alfred's core strength was patience- well, that and his uncanny ability to be wherever he was needed right when he was needed (plus his all around preparedness), but that goes without saying- 

The point is: Alfred Pennyworth = patience!

The problem is: Alfred Pennyworth is nearing his max limit of patience.

Or, to be more specific, Alfred was almost out of patience regarding one person in particular. This particular person, funnily enough, was also the one person alive who could truly not afford to be pissing Alfred Pennyworth off. They also, not funnily enough, are the only person alive who managed to do so on a weekly basis and still remain the proud owner of two functioning legs.

Needless to say, when Alfred finally manages to catch up to master Bruce there was going to be…. an altercation… of sorts, in which one emerged the indisputable victor (Alfred), and the other was lucky to emerge at all (Bruce).

It all began one seemingly normal afternoon. Master Bruce had just returned from a meeting at the watchtower and hadn’t said two words of greeting to the butler before he was off to brood in the batcave, completely ignoring the plate of lunch Alfred had made for him. The elderly man had shrugged it off as this did happen on occasion. Bruce was probably working on a case for the league, which is quite different than working on a case Bruce had made for himself. The league dealt with matters concerning the whole Earth (and space aliens) whereas Batman's cases usually revolved around only one city (three guesses which one).

So master Bruce's standoffishness was understandable, forgivable. Alfred simply covered the lunch so that it wouldn't spoil and left it on the corner of the batcomputer desk for Bruce to eat when he had a spare moment. This was normal.

Just before dinner- Alfred was putting on mitts to pull a spectacular roast from the oven – he noticed (from the kitchen window) the batmobile had exited the cave and was speeding off Wayne Manor grounds, taking Bruce with it. Oh, well… it didn't bother Alfred any. Late dinners (early breakfasts) were common in the Wayne household.

Roughly around midnight Alfred went to fetch the dishes from master Bruce's lunch and found the meal still covered and very much untouched.

Hmm… no matter. The case must've been a troubling one for Bruce to have forgotten the food three inches from his elbow. Alfred, rather than throw it out, gave it to the dog, then sent master Bruce a message requesting to know the approximate time he would be returning home. Alfred wasn't going to prepare any more meals for Bruce if he were going on a mission that would span days. 

A couple hours (five to be exact) passed and Alfred had not received a reply, which caused the butler's right eyebrow to twitch slightly, but the small sign of agitation was easily quelled. Bruce could be neck deep in hot water out there and he simply didn’t have the time to send a text message… or a short voice message… or any kind of message with any of the advanced technological devices batman had hidden all over his immediate person. 

Surely, if anything went wrong one of the many alarms in the batcave would go off…. Surely…

The early morning passed on into an uneventful afternoon, which moved into a equally uneventful evening in which Alfred still had not received a reply to a single one of the dozen messages he'd sent to master Bruce. Nor had he gotten a response to the concerned voicemail he'd left whoever might be occupying the watchtower that day. He'd also consulted many of Batman's regular partners in fighting crime (various robins) and none of them seemed to have a clue as to Bruce's current whereabouts (Alfred questioned just how reliable these particular sources were).

One day turned into two. Two into three, and on the third day Alfred decided to do some research of his own and made his way down to the cave. It was there that he found Bruce's helmet comm and belt communicator lying haphazardly on a workout bench… as if they'd been tossed there.. intentionally…

Strike one master Bruce. Strike one.

Now Alfred (after using his magical powers of being a secret agent himself) is driving Bruce's Lamborghini through the streets of Fawcett city with all the intent of a raging father figure: find the stalwart boy, thoroughly beat the stalwart boy’s ass. 

Alfred was using the city's radio stations to track police and criminal activity (one station in particular, Whiz Radio, was especially helpful) because wherever the action was.. that's where Bruce would be. Alfred would meet him there, and then they would have words..

Turning down a side street that would take him to the back entrance of a bank that was currently being robbed, Alfred couldn't help but notice that the area had taken a drastic turn in cleanliness as opposed to the rest of Fawcett's well kept streets. The buildings were in obvious disrepair, and some were marked for demolition. It felt and looked like it existed on a higher level of shady. Alfred’s guard was up the moment he turned onto the road.

Which was fortunate for the butler because at that moment the alley adjacent the car lit up like the fourth of July and a loud bang assaulted his ears. Now, anyone else would have wrecked Bruce Wayne's Lamborghini. Alfred however, was not just anyone, and managed to barely graze a (conveniently located) fire hydrant before (slamming) applying the brakes. The car made an odd (worrisome) sound as it skidded to a stop approximately six feet from the alley that had exploded. 

Alfred inspected what little he could see of the darkened alleyway from his review mirror and found it just as distastefully disgusting as the rest of the block. It appeared to be an average, something you see everyday, alley… However, the longer he stared at it the wider the two brick walls at the entrance of it seemed to grow and lengthen. Almost as if it were opening its mouth wide, beckoning the butler inside. It was… unnervingly creepy.

And maybe Alfred had finally reached senility, or perhaps it was simply his old hunch acting up, but he temporarily abandoned his quest of vengeance to switch the Lambo's gears into reverse and back up to the entrance of the alley. He put the car into neutral and, taking one deep, calming breath Alfred left the safety of the vehicle to enter the spooky alley. 

As soon Alfred crossed the imaginary threshold and stepped foot into the alley, he regretted being a stubborn man forged of iron will. Instantly, the temperature dropped by four degrees and a peculiar chill ran up his spine to tease at his tense shoulders. The air felt as though it were teaming with static and invisible pins hovering all around (waiting for the opportune moment to stab the butler in the back, face, and everywhere). Huffing in annoyance, Alfred picked up his pace. The sooner his hunch was satisfied (and he was long gone) the better. 

Picking his way around a horribly banged up dumpster near the end of the alley, Alfred began to think that maybe (just this once) his hunch had been off kilter. All he could see was trash and more trash. As he finally reached the other side, clueless as to why he'd even bothered, the elderly man caught a slight shifting of garbage out the corner of his eye and turned to look down.

“Oh, good gracious me!” Alfred gasped, a gloved hand rising to his mouth in surprise and alarm.

There, lying bruised and broken in the deserted alley, was the body of a small child no older than twelve. The little tyke's clothes were in shreds. His blacker than black hair was matted and crusted with some muddy colored liquid. The boy's whole figure trembled and shivered as he lay curled in on himself, and there was obvious damage to his knees, but worst of all, was the scrunched and tormented expression twisting the child's young face into a grimace of pain. What in the world had happened-

Suddenly the sound of sirens blared their way into the alley, startling the butler from his mounting horror. His head snapped toward the direction he'd come, and Alfred could make out the telltale flickering of red and blue lights that only could mean the police were on their way to the recently robbed bank…

There would most definitely be an ambulance and medical team accompanying them..

The boy groaned, pulling the butler's attention back to his plight.

“Sweet heavens!” Alfred's phone was in his hand in an instant, his mind working in overdrive, “Pick up son, come on.. Pick up!”

Alfred placed the phone between his ear and shoulder (much like he did while cooking) and bent to gingerly hoist the boy into his arms. Now, Alfred had carried many young boys to bed (or safety) over the course of his many long years, and never before had a child felt so light and feeble in his arms. It was as if the child's skin was barley enough to hold his bones inside his malnourished body, which was in no way hidden or protected by his useless clothing. The boy was so easy to lift (so easy to break) Alfred felt his heart break a little inside.

“Bruce, answer your phone or so help me- “ 

The call was directed to voicemail, and dismayed, Alfred began to jog toward the blinking lights.

Strike two master Bruce. Strike two.


	2. Blinking Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday noochie ❤

Billy Batson does not dream lightly.

In fact, he understands quite intimately just how very serious dreams are. To Billy Batson, dreams are beautifully (and hopefully) crafted blueprints that have built the foundations of history, crafted the greatest of legends, and influence the flow of everyday life. Dreams are what make life worth living, and not a single soul on earth (or in space) could convince him otherwise.

He knows this from living the hardships of a homeless twelve year old boy, who's smallest dreams have turned ragged scraps of cloth into the expansive blankets that shelter him in warmth every night. His dreams have lead him to dear friends, a paying job, and free breakfast at his favorite diner. Billy's dreaming has turned his heart away from the bitterness of loosing his parents, and is steadily leading him down a straight path that allows him to touch and heal the hearts of others. 

Billy also holds true to this conviction because of his experiences as Captain Marvel, who's mere existence is quite literally dependent on magic (which is so totally cool! and real! who knew!?) and the dream of being a hero. The Captain is the perfect example of what BIG dreams can do, not only for one homeless boy, but for an entire city full of thousands of people! Captain Marvel, anyone would agree, runs on very GOOD dreams: the pure dreams of Billy, the righteous dreams of the wizard, and the hopeful dreams of Fawcett City.

However (and this is were it gets even seriouser) there are also such things as BAD dreams. Dreams that made Billy fear for his life when street thugs cornered the boy for money, or some harm(ful)less fun. Dreams that made him toss and turn at the image of two lifeless bodies that shared the same last name as him. Dreadful, dark, world conquering dreams that inspired villains to build machines of mass destruction and murder. Dreams that enslaved the minds of unsuspecting people, taking away their freedom of choice, and forcing them to commit acts of evil. 

Whether as plain old Billy Batson, or as the beloved Captain, Billy has experienced both kinds of dreams, and he takes them very (VERY) seriously. So seriously, that he prefers to do most of his dreaming during the day where he can keep track and watch over them closely. Now, that's not to say he doesn't dream while he's asleep or unconscious! He totally does. It's just…

..he doesn’t trust those ones so much.

Not as much as the ones he can see in the daylight, and not nearly so much as the ones he has complete control over. Those dreams have a tendency to be more bad than good, and Billy and bad dreams simply do not mix together well.

No, not well at all.

Which is why Billy is very baffled by the incredibly (amazingly amazing) good dream he is currently having while being very much not awake.

At least, Billy doesn't think that he's awake… He's pretty sure he fell twenty feet into a metal dumpster and banged himself up pretty badly. If he were conscious wouldn’t he be in massive amounts of physical pain? Well, he's not. There’s not an ounce of pain circulating through Billy's entire body, so he must be dreaming a wonderfully wonderful dream were nothing hurts (not like reality does).

In the dream everything was dark, not pitch black (like the stuff in nightmares) mind you, just.. dark.. like a bedroom with the windows open at seven p.m. Billy could make out the shapes of objects and things around him, but they weren't clear images. They looked fuzzy and distant to his eyes so he couldn't quite make out what they actually were, but he could still see them. From what he could tell he was in a tunnel of some sort that lead off in two directions: where you were going, and where you had been.

And Billy was headed somewhere alright. Not because he'd decided to go anywhere in particular, and then chose to act upon that desire. No, in this dream there was someone else, someone not Billy, who was headed someplace different from where they'd been.

And for reasons unknown to the boy, they'd decided to take him with them.

The dream person was carrying Billy in their arms as they ran through the strange tunnel to a place only they knew. And it was…

So, so nice.

Whoever they were, they handled Billy very carefully. Their hands were pleasantly warm where they gripped him tightly, and Billy could tell from feel alone that this person was remarkably strong. Stronger than Billy Batson on his very best day. They could probably break Billy easily, snap him in two, but they didn't. Call him hopeless, but Billy felt safe in the dream person's embrace. Their hold on him was secure and absolute, yet gentle and unobtrusive. 

They held him like he was somebody precious, someone to be protected and cared for. The thought had Billy snuggling closer to the person, the lonely boy melting further into the apparition’s clutches. His head was nestled comfortably in the crook of a firm shoulder and he could feel the steady rise and fall of their lungs against his cheek. Billy could hear a rhythmic beat pulsing from within the person's chest and he sighed happily at the beautiful sound.

The dream person seemed to notice, stopping momentarily to readjust their hold on the boy, hefting him up higher in their arms and pulling him closer to the miraculous source of the beating. Billy would've smiled had he thought his lips capable of the small motion. Then they were off again, headed to wherever. 

Billy was beginning to feel sleepy, lulled by the smooth strides of the dream person. Everything felt cozy and warm and nice. Billy thinks that maybe this is the best dream he's ever had. He’s really grateful to the person for deciding to take him with them on their journey. He likes the way they carry him, close and tenderly, as if Billy was actually worth something. Like he meant something to this dream person.

Which is totally ludicrous! Billy can count the number of people who really care on two fingers and both of them are long gone. So it can't be that.

But what else could it be? They were practically cradling him to their chest, for Fawcett’s sake! No one does that to complete strangers, not to random nobodies.

Should Billy even care why they were doing it?

Sometimes Billy really wishes he didn't have a certain meddling god of wisdom riding around in his head, so that he doesn't have to constantly second guess, or think everything through ten million times. Why can't Billy just enjoy this dream without caring about exactly why it feels like he's found a tiny patch of heaven where he actually means something to someone?

There really is no good reason why Billy can't enjoy this. Its his own freaking dream after all. So that’s precisely what he is going to do. Billy is going to indulge himself and enjoy this kind person’s warmth, their sweet care. He's going to allow himself their generous comfort and just relax for a minute or ten.

Billy is going to allow someone else lead the way for once… trust them for a little while. 

Let them hold him like the hurt kid he is.

.  
.

Not long after he failed to get ahold of Bruce the call disconnected and the line went dead. Alfred let the phone slide out from its precarious position and clatter to the ground. The device made a pitiful plunking sound as it landed in a puddle of something unpleasant, and was subsequently damaged, but Alfred couldn't bring himself to care. His arms were full of an injured child and his top priority was getting him to emergency services as quickly as possible. 

Besides, its not like the blasted thing had helped the butler any of these past few days.

As Alfred ran toward help the boy began to stir in his arms, his thin limbs twitching weakly as he awoke. Alfred briefly worried that he'd jostled the child to wakefulness, but then he recalled the child's feeble movements from under the pile of garbage Alfred rescued him from and figured it was inevitable that the child would wake. When the older man glanced down to check on the boy he noticed that the child had managed to open his eyes halfway. Even from the awkward angle Alfred could tell that the boy's eyes were a stunning electric blue. 

The child made a distressed sound and Alfred slowed to a stop. As carefully as he could, Alfred repositioned the kid so that his little noggin was properly supported. This seemed to please the boy as he smiled groggily up at the sky beyond Alfred's shoulder. His beautiful blues were unfocused and glazed over with what could only be a concussion.

Alfred prayed that any head trauma the child suffered wasn't the permanent kind.

“Hold on son, help is coming.” Alfred whispered to the boy in his arms. “Just a few moments more.”

“S'okay….’m warm.. here.”

The elderly man didn't expect the response, but he did appreciate the burst of speed the child's voice spurred in his legs.

It took Alfred Pennyworth a minute or two to pick his way around the trash piles at the end of the ally, and roughly four minutes to clear two street blocks (not too shabby for an older gentleman balancing an injured child). Alfred rounded the second street corner and was met with a sweet rush of relief. Just across the street three sets of blinking lights blessed the butler's eyes. One belonged to the Fawcett city police department, the second to a bright red firetruck, and the last to a blocky emergency vehicle. A beautiful, fully equipped, ready to go, ambulance. 

Alfred can't recall a time he's ever been happy to see an ambulance (nor have intentions to actually use it) like he is now. 

After looking both ways, Alfred made his way across the street. The police car was unattended, probably because the officers were busy inside the building. A couple firefighters were standing near the back entrance of the bank, their backs facing the direction Alfred was coming from. The only person not preoccupied with the robbery was a lone paramedic waiting by the ambulance in case anyone was hurt during the criminal act.

Luckily for Alfred, as soon as he drew near the paramedic spotted him.

“Please, I need your help!” Alfred pleaded, hoping that the picture of a desperate man and the limp child in his arms would speak for itself.

“Oh, sweet baby cheezits!” The paramedic, a middle aged woman, waved Alfred toward the back of the vehicle. “Bring that little angel over here, quickly now.”

Alfred was going to kiss the blessed woman when all of this was over. For now he followed her, grateful for the degenerates that decided to rob the bank, which brought the ambulance right to where Alfred needed it to be. 

As the paramedic began to open both doors to the back of the ambulance she spared a glance over her shoulder at the boy.

“What happened to him, do you know?” She asked, concern evident in her voice.

“f-fell ou' the sky.. I thiinkK..”

Both Alfred and the woman startled at the child's slurred speech. 

Sometime between Alfred crossing the street and meeting the paramedic, the boy had managed to turn his head to fully face the older man, and his clear blue eyes no longer half-lidded. Still, his gaze seemed far away and unaware of all his surroundings.

“The sky, huh.” The woman pulled out a red bag from the ambulance and unzipped the side pocket, “What were you doing all the way up there?”

“Hmm.. “ The child frowned. “Rrunnningh aw-awayy.”

“Ah, here we go.” The woman smiled, brandishing a small flashlight. To Alfred she said, “Make sure he doesn't wiggle his head.”

To the kid she asked, “What are you running away from, honey?” Then she shined the light in his eyes, tracking the patterns of his pupils.

The boy's eyes started to water and he made a small distressed sound. As the paramedic foretold, the child began to struggle against the butler's chest to get away from the light. 

“It's alright, son.” Alfred said calmly, “You're okay, I've got you.”

Like a strike of lightning, the boy's frantic eyes shot to Alfred's, some of the fright in them settling. Then, to the older man's amazement, the child smiled at him. A dopey little grin that melted Alfred's heart, and reminded him of a certain black haired, blue eyed teen he knew long ago (and had almost forgotten). The boy sighed happily, gripping one of the lapels of Alfred’s suit with a thin, trembling hand, and snuggled closer. 

Alfred would see this child well taken care of (no matter the cost to Bruce's wallet.)

“Amanda!” Someone called, snapping Alfred out of his trance. “Get over here and check this goon's leg!”

The paramedic groaned, pocketing the flashlight and giving Alfred an apologetic smile. “I've already called a second ambulance. They should be here shortly, Mr-?”

“Pennyworth, madam.” The butler said, ever so grateful for this kind woman's existence. “Alfred Pennyworth.”

“I wish we'd met under better circumstances Mr. Pennyworth.” Amanda said, picking up the same bag she'd revealed earlier and turning to leave. “Don't go anywhere, that kid has a concussion at best and needs to be transferred to Fawcett hospital as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Amanda.”

“Good luck sir!”

As Alfred watched her walk away he felt a soft tug on his suit and looked down at the troubled expression the boy was wearing.

“Yes, son, what is it?”

The child’s brows scrunched comically and his voice rang clearer than it had previously, “Alfred? A-are we safe?”

Alfred felt a knot tighten in the left side of his chest. He cleared his throat, “Yes, son. We're safe. Do you mind if I sit down?”

The boy appeared puzzled by the question but gave his consent anyway.

Taking advantage of the ambulance's open doors, the older man took a seat on the back end of the vehicle. Alfred then took a moment to properly sort the child in his arms, relieving some of the strain from having held the boy for so long. 

Once they were settled, Alfred drank in the sight of the skinny child. He seemed more awake and alert now despite the glazed film still edged over his eyes. A little bit of color had also returned to the boy's face where it had been almost deathly pale before. Compared to the mess that was the rest of the child, Alfred considered these very small victories. 

But victories nonetheless.

“You're really very nice Mr. Alfred.” The boy informed the butler, sounding every bit like wonder struck child in the presence of their favorite superhero.

“Am I?” Alfred wondered aloud. He could think of at least five people off the top of his head who would claim claim the exact opposite. 

“Very much so, sir.” The boy was quick to assure him. “I've never met anyone like you in real life.”

“I'll have to take your word for it, son.” Alfred chuckled, enjoying the satisfied smile the boy gifted him. “What name should I call you by, lad?”

“Billy, sir.”

“A fine name. Short for William perhaps?”

Billy made a face. 

Alfred laughed, an action that came easily around this child, “Billy it is then.”

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, master Billy.” 

He must have said something humorous because the boy giggled, his boney shoulders shaking in time with his sniggering. When Billy stopped he looked up at Alfred somewhat dreamily. “I like you a lot Mr. Alfred.”

“I like you too, son.” He really did.

“You’re so nice….” Billy trailed off, biting his lower lip, “I wish this could last longer, but.. b-but I'll have wake up soon. I don't know where I landed and it could still be after me.”

“Nothing can harm you while I'm here, master Billy.” The butler declared firmly. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Yeah… for now.”

Alfred felt something sharp and urgent swell within him. Some instinctive warning telling him to be wary of the odd phrasing of Billy's words. It sounded almost as though the boy believed he was in a dream, or at least, that what he was currently experiencing did not reside in a realm of reality. Alfred had ignored it during the earlier parts of their conversation, convinced that it was the concussion speaking, but…

Something told Alfred his assumptions were way off the mark. It also cautioned the older man to choose his own words carefully, lest he spook the boy accidentally.

Alfred's mind raced as he thought about the horrible condition he found the boy in, and what had transpired after. Billy told the paramedic that he was running away from something, hadn't he? But he never mentioned what. Thinking back on it, the boy hadn't seemed adverse to Amanda's line of questioning, only too out of it to answer her coherently.

Alfred cleared his throat, “For now you are safe with me, master Billy. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Billy sighed, “It's Solomon who has issues.”

“I see.” He really didn't. “If you don't mind me asking, what were you running away from?”

“W-well, I…umm.” Billy’s face flushed, making him look more embarrassed by the question than anything else Alfred expected. “A shadow.”

“Did this.. shadow do this to you?” Alfred gestured to the boy’s sorry condition. 

“….no?” Billy's brows scrunched together, his grip on Alfred's suit tightening. “It just.. It wouldn't leave me alone. It kept following me everywhere I went. I couldn't shake it.”

Billy shivered, “I’m new to all of this. I’m still learning and no one told me what shadows mean… if they are good or bad. If they can hurt me. So I ran.”

Alfred did his utmost best to keep a straight face, but was finding it increasingly difficult the longer the boy spoke. “Then how did you sustain all these injuries?”

“I wasn't watching were I was flying.”

“You,” Alfred swallowed, “You fell out of the sky….”

“Mmhmm! But I don't think I mind so much.” Billy said, as if he could so easily dismiss the severity of his accident, “I mean… I got to meet you, right?”

“Y-yes.” Alfred's mind was a flurry of theories, every single one of them crazier than the last.

One thing was for certain though, Alfred cannot simply let this boy go once he receives medical attention. Billy will definitely be coming home with the older man to Wayne manor.

And no, Bruce doesn't get a say in the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you likey.


	3. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy's waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last stretch!

Billy is familiar with gods. He has six manifestations of them tagging along in his headspace twenty-four seven. He knows most of them are Greek, and when they aren't at odds with his decisions (or one another) they make a great team. Billy knows his god-partner's strengths, their personalities, and he believes in them. 

´´´￦e believe in you too.```

What Billy isn't familiar with are angels. He's heard mention of them among the homeless community and he is pretty sure his mama believed in angels, but Billy's never met one in person before today.

Billy is almost ninety-eight percent sure that Mr. Alfred is an angel… maybe.. probably.. most definitely!

Billy has some convincing evidence, if not outright proof, that Mr. Alfred is an angel.

For starters, he can cross between the mortal and the magical realm like a god, but Billy's never heard of a divine being called Alfred before so he must be something in between. Mr. Alfred was also able to find Billy when he was in serious trouble and lead him out of the dark tunnel and towards the light, which is something guardian angels do. (He read that in a book once.)

Angels are also supposed to wear white robes according to all the pictures and descriptions. Mr. Alfred doesn't wear white robes, but he has a very nice, clean suit with a neat white shirt underneath so… it totally counts.

Lastly, when Mr. Alfred talks, Billy is automatically drawn to the gentle softness and kind understanding of his voice. Its like he knows exactly how Billy is feeling and what he's been through, so he speaks in a way that is soothing to boy's soul. Surely, only an angel could do that.

So yeah, Billy's finally met an angel.

An angel who is currently carding his fingers through the tangled, sticky strands sitting atop Billy's forehead.

“I'll miss you when I wake up Mr. Alfred.” Billy said, he couldn't help but be sincere with his guardian angel. “I'll never forget you.”

Mr. Alfred's face did something funny, then smoothed into a soft smile. “Let's not worry about that right now. Let's just focus on getting you feeling better, son.”

Son..?

Guardian angels can have-?

Did Mr. Alfred mean Billy-??

Red rushed to Billy's cheeks and his ears were suspiciously warm. He shrank all three inches into himself, very embarrassed, but Mr. Alfred didn’t point out his bashfulness. He didn't look disappointed either. 

In fact, the angel man's smile widened ever so slightly and the hand running through Billy's hair began to rub lightly at his scalp. Warmth covered the young boy like a blanket and he sighed happily. 

It's been too long since Billy last felt this content and comfortable in the presence of another being. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to be completely at peace. Its one of the best feelings in the whole wide world, and Billy silently cheered that he was allowed to experience it once again despite the awful circumstances that brought it about.

Another part of him (the Solomon part) stirred uneasily, it whispered that all was not as is seemed and cautioned him to be wary. It flittered about apprehensively in the back of Billy's mind, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

But Solomon always did that. Billy remembers the first time they connected that Solomon had been incredulous about how young the new champion was. It didn't take very long however (if he remembers correctly it was right after Billy's debut as Fawcett City's mighty mortal) for Solomon to lose his doubts and began to fret over his wellbeing instead. He was overly protective, always hovering just beyond Billy's original thoughts to interject whenever he felt the boy needed guidance and wisdom. 

None of the others did this, only Solomon, and Billy was used to it by now. It was almost a habit to ignore the guy at this point.

So he did.

Mr. Alfred continued his gentle ministrations, expertly avoiding the swollen lump on Billy's head, and massaging everywhere else. This caused Billy to relax even further in the angel's lap and he let out a grateful hum. Really, is there anyone alive as thoughtful and amazing as Mr. Alfred? 

Heh… Probably not.

Mr. Alfred is the best, and so warm too…

..Billy's eyes began to drift close.

“Ah, ah-ah.” The angel's sweet voice opened Billy's eyes again. “You mustn’t fall asleep now, master Billy. It’s imperative that you remain awake at this time.”

“Stop being comfy then.” Billy grumbled, snuggling closer. 

“Careful, mind your head.” 

Geez. Do all angels fuss this much over their charges? (Billy secretly hopes its only his angel that cares this much.) Mr. Alfred shouldn't worry. It's not like Billy got ran over by a car or something awful like that. He just fell is all.

Besides, who could sleep with that funny sound blaring all around them? 

Billy noticed the weird noise a while ago, but it had seemed to be coming from far away enough that it wasn't a big deal. Now it was right next to them and it was kinda annoying. It sounded like a repetitive notification that would keep on blaring until someone did the obscure thing that would shut it off. 

Did it mean Billy had to wake up soon? He sure hoped not.

´´´Billy!```

Ugh. Solomon again. 

´´Wha~t?`` Billy groaned at the immortal inside his head.

´´´Something is wrong! You need to leave this place and this man. ```

´´´Not this again.``` Couldn't he catch a break? Like ever?? 

´´´Billy, listen to me -```

´´´Whatever it is, no.```

´´´Billy -!!```

Mr. Alfred's fingers got caught on a knot in Billy's hair. The consequential tug to the boy's head pulled his attention out from inside his mind and directed it to the grimacing angel above him.

“Terribly sorry about that, son.” Mr. Alfred apologized. Very gently, he started untangling the ratted clump of dirty hair. “We're going to have to see about a shower when we get to the hospital.”

The… hospital? 

The word felt foreign and unwelcome here in between the world of magic and the world of consciousness. There are no hospitals in the in-between. They serve no purpose and have no place here. Also, Billy despises hospitals in general so why would there be mention of one in his good dream? Why would Mr. Alfred….?

´´´I'm begging you, Billy, please listen to me!```

The strange noise that was merely annoying before was now ringing in Billy's ears like an ominous wail. He knew that sound. It’s the sound that accompanies Captain Marvel to the scenes of accidents, hostile robot take-overs, and…

…bank robberies.

Billy suddenly felt sick, the haze of comfort he'd been under shattering like a toppled glass pillar. 

He looked up at his dream angel, “You.. You’re taking me to the hospital?”

Mr. Alfred nodded his head in the affirmative. “Yes. You took a nasty tumble. It's the hospital for you I'm afraid.”

Fear surged up within Billy. A cold, old, and uncompromising fear that Billy had known since the death of C.C. and Marylin Batson. A horrible dread of the terrible things that would come whenever Billy has walked through the doorway of a foster home. A dread that only left when Billy showed himself the way out.

Shaken and afraid, Billy looked to his source of wisdom and constant meddling. ´´´S-Solomon?```

´´´R U N```

Faster than any concussed boy had the right to be, Billy launched himself up and out of a startled Mr. Alfred's arms. It hurt when he hit the ground, but he rolled with it, stumbling to his sore legs and taking off at a hobbling run.

He couldn't go back to the system that didn't want him. Billy has always been better off fending for himself. He's the only one (in the mortal world) who even cares what happens to Billy Batson.

“Master Billy!” Mr. Alfred was right behind him. The sound of his voice was still sweet. “Son, wait!”

Tears prickled at the corners of the runaway’s already fuzzy vision, but he was glad. Glad that Mr. Alfred, while not an actual angel, did seem concerned for a random street rat’s welfare. It takes a good person to help complete strangers, and Mr. Alfred was definitely one of the good persons out there. 

But he would also try to help in a way that wasn't actually helping. It could only hurt Billy in the end to know this good man.

Billy somehow made it to the street corner, but that was as far as he got. His bad knee had given all it was going to give and finally gave out. Billy shut his eyes as he fell, but couldn't help a pained cry from slipping out of his mouth. He already hurt all over. Falling would add one more pain to his growing list and Billy wasn't sure if he could afford anymore.

Billy never made it to the asphalt. 

Something latched tightly onto the corner of his filthy sweater and his descend was stopped with a shredded snap. A cool breeze blew against Billy’s exposed chest and he shivered. 

The boy knew without even opening his eyes that his favorite red sweater was ruined. The poor article of clothing was already tattered and threadbare to start with, but now it was torn all up the front and barely hanging on at his shoulders. 

It was his last sweater (he'd run out of shirts too) and that meant…

Billy cracked open his eyes and instantly wished he was anywhere but here. 

Mr. Alfred looked stricken, his aged brows crinkled together and his mouth gaping as he took in the jagged scars that trail down from Billy's heart in twisted zigzag patterns to his belly button. 

Billy's never felt ashamed of his lighting scars before. Never. In fact, they are a source of pride and irrefutable proof that the Captain is a part of him now. With Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, and Mercury by his side Billy would never truly be alone. Sometimes Billy would lie awake at night and trace the scars with his fingers, finding comfort and solace in their existence (in his).

But the way Mr. Alfred was looking at them, at him? Billy felt shame like never before.

“L-let g-go of m-me.” Billy could hardly understand himself, he is crying so hard. He wants Mr. Alfred to look away, to leave him alone, to just stop staring.

Mr. Alfred sounds like he might start crying too, “Ma- Billy, I'm so dreadfully sorry about that. It was an accident. Please, son, you need a hospital.”

“N-no!” Billy tugged against the hold Mr. Alfred has on his torn sweater, a few of the weak strands breaking at the rough treatment. “I c-can't go to the hospital!”

“Alright! No hospital Billy. You have my word! Just come with me, please.” The older man's voice broke towards the end of his sentence.

Billy wanted to believe Mr. Alfred, he really did. But Adults always say whatever they have to, to get kids to listen. 

And Billy has heard it all.

“Alfred!”

As Mr. Alfred turned to look over his shoulder for whomever called his name, Billy pulled with all his might. The last few strings snapped. 

Billy called the wizards name. 

And magic took him away from the nicest man he'd ever met.

.

.

“Alfred!”

It was a rookie mistake….

“Alfred, there you are.”

An utter dunce move….

“I've been looking everywhere for you.”

All it took was a single moment of distraction and the boy was gone. He slipped right through Alfred's fingers. All that was left of the mysterious child was a battered piece of unsalvageable cloth.

Alfred had messed up big time and now the precious boy with the dopey grin and beautiful blue eyes would haunt him until Alfred found a way to make it right.

“Why is your phone off?”

….

…..What?

Alfred turned to glare at the man in the black cowl. “Excuse me, what did you say?”

Bruce had the brains to look mildly concerned for his safety. “I- uh, I was wondering why your phone is off, Alfred.”

He held up the sorry excuse for a cellular device that the butler had discarded earlier that evening in the middle of a puddle. The screen was cracked and it was dripping with muddy water.

Bruce took a cautious step forward, “How am I supposed to reach you if you lose this?”

Alfred felt furry rise within. He wanted to snatch the phone from his long-time son and hurl the useless device at his swollen head! He wanted to smash the blasted thing under his foot, dash it to pieces. He wanted-!

Alfred swallowed the red hot rage and took a moment to compose himself in front of his charge. A frozen, stony calm came over the seasoned butler, and he fixed Bruce with a disappointed stare. 

“Are you daft, stupid, or just stupid?” He asked.

“Uhm, Alfred.. I'm not sure what you mean.” Unfortunately for Bruce, his naive act wasn't going to work here.

“Just stupid then.”

“Alfred!”

“Don't you 'Alfred' me young man!” The elder man waived off any further protest Bruce had to offer. “You bloody well know what you did, Bruce. And you have the gall- the nerve to ask me why YOU can't get ahold of ME?!”

Bruce's mouth opened. At Alfred's glower it closed.

“Three days of radio silence! Three bloody days!” Alfred wasn't shouting just yet, but his voice was definitely raised. “And, what do you know? It’s a radio silence I was never informed we'd be having. You didn't have the decency to leave a note!”

Alfred's curled fists found their way to Bruce's caped shoulders so that he could look his bat-cosplaying son in the eyes. “You didn't even touch your dinner I made you.”

Bruce looked away, a suspicious shade of red peaking out from underneath his cowl. “It's.. I didn't mean to...worry you over what could’ve been nothing.”

Alfred could feel a headache coming on. A headache induced by his beloved idiot.

“What was it then?”

Bruce frowned, “It doesn't matter now. I lost the only lead I had.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and shook Bruce none too gently. “What case were you working on? Speak up, or so help me-!”

“There’s a new super in the world Alfred.” As soon as he said the word ‘super' Bruce's aura turned tense. “I… have no clue who he is, or the full extent of what he can do.”

Alfred tutted, rather put out with Bruce. “You went radio silent over a secret identity?”

Bruce struggled for a moment before saying, “It's different this time! Clark swears he's not another kryptonian and the guy reeks of magic Alfred.”

“I cannot believe this is what you've been shaving off years of my life over.” Alfred let go of Bruce and turned to leave. 

Never mind Bruce's meta/magic paranoia, Alfred had his own mystery person to chase after now. He wouldn't rest until a certain little boy received a brand new sweater and a belly full of proper food.

“Oh, Alfred!” Bruce called, jogging to catch up to the older man. “I ran across the lambo and had it autopilot home. You'll have to ride back with me.”

Strike three master Bruce. 

Strike three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first part of this series. I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> To get updates you can subscribe to the series Billy, Bats, and League crap.
> 
> Have a nice day!

**Author's Note:**

> >;D


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